


Hold My Flour

by waterofthemoon



Series: Name That Author/Guess The Author Challenge Fills [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Baking, Established Relationship, Fluff, Food Fight, M/M, Making Up, One Shot, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24760864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/pseuds/waterofthemoon
Summary: Crowley's plans are disturbed when Aziraphale decides he'd like to learn how to bake. It all goes downhill from there.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Name That Author/Guess The Author Challenge Fills [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805698
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30
Collections: SOSH - Guess the Author #1 "You started it"





	Hold My Flour

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the first round of Guess The Author in the Soft Omens Snuggle House Discord! The prompt was "you started it," which had to be included in the text somewhere.

"Definitely, you started it," Aziraphale insists. He squints at Crowley through his reading glasses, which are now streaked with flour.

It's cute, but Crowley has a point to make, which is that he doesn't even remember agreeing to this. Aziraphale just turned up out of the blue, declared himself in need of diversion and said that someone ought to put Crowley's kitchen to use, and proceeded to set about teaching himself to bake from a vintage cookbook.

Crowley didn't even know he _owned_ baking pans or any of the other accoutrements that have cropped up on every spare inch of countertop. That's the universe for you, he supposes, or more likely, just Aziraphale.

"No, hang on," Crowley says. He runs a hand through his hair and winces when it gets stuck. "You're the one who swanned in here and took over, when I was having a terrific day of doing absolutely nothing. You can't possibly blame me for—all this."

He gestures to indicate the state of the kitchen, Aziraphale's trousers and jumper where the frilly apron stops short, and his own general dishevelment. There was wine, and there was an argument; that much Crowley knows. For the life of him, he can't think now what the disagreement was, but it ended in a mad scramble and subsequent tussle over the baking ingredients, and now they've devolved into debating whose fault _that_ was.

There's flour _everywhere_. It's visible even through the formerly gleaming white of Crowley's decor, and the more Crowley looks at it, the funnier it is. He sits down on the floor, on a relatively clear patch with nothing squelchy on it, and laughs until he has tears streaming out of the corners of his eyes.

"Dearheart," Aziraphale says. He joins Crowley on the floor and knocks their knees together. "Are you quite all right?"

"Yeah." Crowley's laughter subsides as he takes another look around the room. They've managed to get batter on the ceiling. It's sort of impressive.

Aziraphale glances around, too, and gives him a lopsided, half-dimpled smile. "Truce?" he offers, a bit sheepishly.

"Truce," Crowley agrees.

They shake on it; Crowley seals it with a kiss for good measure. Aziraphale's mouth tastes like pastry batter.

"That was quite a good row," Crowley says. He nudges Aziraphale in the ribs. "I'm awfully sorry about your scones, though."

Aziraphale waves him off. "I'll make more. Still getting the hang of it, anyway. For now…."

He stows his glasses in his apron pocket. Behind them, that steely blue gaze has turned sharp and speculative and is aimed directly at Crowley, who manages an eloquent "uh" before Aziraphale swipes a finger through the unbaked scones on Crowley's silk shirt and pops it in his mouth.

"Delicious," Aziraphale says, "if you don't mind me saying so."

Crowley swallows hard. "Not at all," he says. "But this really was all your fault, I hope you know."

That gets him another small smile from Aziraphale. "I'd rather say we're both to blame."


End file.
